


Can and Shall Obey

by bold_seer



Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Identity Issues, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: Antonio looks determinedly at the sea and keeps to himself his disappointment.





	Can and Shall Obey

The wind blows harder today. He’s taken the same path a few times now, walking along the very shores of Illyria, as close as he gets to water on land, where he must watch his every step.

The sea beats loudly against the rocks below, with violent bursts of foam.

Yet it’s restful. Calmer than his ship, or the gaol, or an inn.

He’d been released, all right, with a bag of gold for his _services_ ( _on my sister’s behalf, and for myself -_ ). What was there to do, than take up a room - not at the Elephant.

He’s never been still for very long, sailing the seas - Adriatic, Ionian, and further afield - since he was a boy, away from home longer than not. Rarely does he stand with his feet so firmly on the ground, as here, on this rocky shore.

He stays. Watches the waves, as they crash in, tirelessly. The sea, its great and punishing beauty.

\--

When he sets off in the morning, it’s cool and overcast. But the clouds are white, almost without borders, and luminous in a way that seems almost like a sign. A promise, an expectation of something.

Fills him with dread and longing even before he sees the vision in the distance clearly. Then it hits him with such a dizzying force that, for a moment, it hurts to breathe.

Two Sebastians, each more beautiful, each more vibrant, each seeking to supplant the other. The perfect picture in his mind, the physical memory of his body as they lay next to each other in the darkness.

And Sebastian as he stands before him now: married, reunited with his sister, still Sebastian. Still lovely, and an ache in his chest.

(Or. Two Sebastians, two halves of a whole, one not Sebastian at all.)

This is Sebastian, Sebastian alone, with a warm and all-encompassing smile. He moves as if to embrace him. Hesitates. Lets his arms fall down; they brush lightly against Antonio’s.

“My dear, dear Antonio. I have missed you so.”

“I have my lodgings, you have yours.” His voice is brisk, brisker than he meant to. “But you can walk with me, if you like.”

And so they do, Antonio seasoned, and Sebastian following.

Petty, perhaps, to assert himself so. Foolish even. Sebastian, unexperienced in these parts, missteps. Stumbles, falls - Antonio turns instinctively, and Sebastian ends up half in his arms.

Briefly. Then he gracefully lets himself go. Finds his step, takes a breath and collects himself. “I’ll end up owing you my life many times over.”

“You owe me nothing.” He’s not an eloquent man. But the thought is all wrong after all - that you could buy love, with a purse, with a bag of gold. Or even a deed, a life debt.

Wrong. He’s no longer an eloquent man. _My desire, more sharp than filed steel_ \- 

His thoughts overbrim, then flow backwards, return to the heart of the well. “Everything I gave, I gave willingly.”

The confession is so quiet that he doesn’t know if Sebastian, further away from him already, unhurt and unaffected, even heard it.

Doesn’t remember later if he said anything out loud at all, or if the words died, a thought or a whisper.

His eyes rest on Sebastian’s back, the deep blue fabric. It starts to rain very lightly, drops barely felt.

\--

Dark clouds gather at dusk, as nature forms sharp black shadows. The rain sneaks up on them, hard and loud and relentless. Their clothes are soaked, Sebastian’s light hair at least a shade or two darker.

He resembles Rodrigo, that day on the ship.

“Why did you marry the countess?” He must ask. He must ask, although it pains him to.

There is a flicker of something in Sebastian’s eyes. “She threw her love at me. How could I refuse it?”

(Or. He threw his love at him. How could he refuse him?)

But Sebastian seems miserable, his teeth chattering already. Antonio keeps his distance, refrains himself from wrapping his arms around Sebastian. As if that were any comfort at all, cold as they both are.

“You must go home. To your wife.”

“My wife. But Cesario’s.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the words new on his tongue, unfamiliar still. It should be a sweet phrase, _his wife_. Yet Sebastian seems troubled by whose wife. The sudden realisation.

“But yours,” Antonio says gently, resolutely. 

He said the words.

\--

The skies seem to move with such purpose, more purpose than that of one man. A great big mass of clouds, dark greys mixed in with an odd yellowish white, moving onwards and away from Illyria.

As if to escape the place.

“She loves me not.” There is no particular emotion in Sebastian’s tone, none that he can discern. “She loves – not me.”

Not a bad day to sail, if he only were out at sea. But he’s not.

“She understands it now. That we, my sister and I, are as unlike as we are alike.” His smile is fond and private, recalling some small detail. “I have sometimes thought Viola has more valour, though I swear I will still best her in a sword fight.”

And the essence: “That Cesario may not exist.”

(Or. What, he could ask, of Rodrigo?)

“Oh, Antonio. How painful it is to disappoint the very person you love.” Sebastian’s voice is earnest and concerned. A young man’s pain, and a pain nonetheless.

Antonio looks determinedly at the sea and keeps to himself his disappointment. His love.

\--

The air is still, with a hint of warmth, and the skies blue and cloudless. High above, a seagull circles aimlessly.

Sebastian finally asks: “Why did you follow me to Illyria, though it was not safe?” He must know. He must know already.

Antonio shrugs, what is there to say. “For you.” That is all. That is enough.

Sebastian turns away, shaking his head. “I thought they would annul the marriage. That it was void. I am not _Cesario_.”

“No.”

He whispered a reminder to himself in the night: _you did not deny me. I would never want you to be anyone else._

“ _I_ am not Cesario. But - Cesario can exist. Does exist.” His eyes light up. “A marriage and a marriage, don’t you see? Orsino and Viola, Cesario and Olivia - I have no part in it. I never did.”

“Where would we go, Sebastian? How would we live? How can I ask you to abandon your sister?”

“If you love me aught -” _my desire, more sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth_. “Stay.”

But he did.

“No. Antonio, no. You are not mine to command. I should’ve worked harder to find you. Before now. Before I married a woman I did not know.”

A pause, and the weight of days and hours melts away. “You are not a servant. A companion, and free to go.”

“But yours.” Antonio takes his hands, holds them to his chest. His heart. “And free to stay.”


End file.
